Who Kidnapped Steve McQueen?
by Timbereads
Summary: House awakens to find his beloved pet rat missing. He suspects foul play. It's up to him to find the kidnapper and perpatrate justice. There are 5 suspects, 5 motives, 5 scenarios. Which is which? This is a job for Detective Sherlock House. [Silly!fic]
1. The Crime & Suspect: Dr Eric Foreman

**A/N: Can someone please stop sending mommy rabbits to my doorstep? They keep giving birth to annoying but ohsocute plotbunnies that I just can't let go. I was making a PB&J when one crawled up my pant leg and refused to let go until I'd written this. Originally this was just going to be a really long one shot, but then I decided that it would be more effective if I split it up into chapters. So that's why the chappies are a bit short. Also, a big round of applause to my beta, blueheronz, for putting up with my neverending supply of unfinished stories and emails at 2:30 in the morning. Go read her story A Vast Indifference of the Sky. It's very good, and I'll give you all cookies. Homemade! This is just a silly little story, and I own nothing but the idea. I do hold stock in House's cane, but unfortunately, that doesn't really mean anything. That said, if you steal my stuff, I break yo face. I'm protective of my bunnies. Please read, review and enjoy!****  
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**Who Kidnapped Steve McQueen?**

**Chapter 1: The Crime & Suspect: Dr Eric Foreman**

There were three things House did when he woke up in the morning. One, he took his Vicodin. Two, he rolled back over and closed his eyes. Three, after the alarm started screaming again, he checked on Steve McQueen. A little cheese on rye and a scratch on the tummy, and both mammals were ready to face the world.

So, on the morning of March Seventeenth, 2007, when House discovered the latch to Steve's cage unlocked and squeaky and the aforementioned rat missing and signs of a struggle, the diagnostician immediately suspected foul play.

He had to solve the mystery. The life of his beloved pet hung in the balance.

* * *

Allison Cameron, Robert Chase and Eric Foreman sat around the table, each nursing a mug of caffeinated Columbian coffee. All three wore flat-bottomed shoes, optimal for sneaking into an apartment without being heard. House observed his fellows through the glass and across the hall. He tapped his chin before limping into the room. Instantly, three pairs of eyebrows disappeared into the wrinkles of three foreheads.

"Uh, House?" Foreman said. "What's with the outfit?"

Indeed, it seemed their boss had gone even crazier than normal. On top of his graying hair, a deerstalker hat straight out of a Sherlock Holmes novel; a plaid coat adorned his shoulders; a play pipe that emitted bubbles every time House breathed completed the comical image.

"Elementary, my dear Foreman," he replied. "We have a new mystery."

Chase brightened. "A new case? Thank God!"

House tutted. "No, dear Robert. A new _mystery_. One much more important than a dying person."

The doctors stared blankly at their boss. He sighed.

"In simpleton's terms, my dear ducklings, the-."

"Could you stop calling people 'dear,'" Cameron interrupted.

"Why, Dr Cameron, I'd think you'd be jumping for joy at my sudden niceties." She just huffed and sat back.

"As I was saying, the new mystery far surpasses any case you could possibly give me. Because this time, it's personal."

"One of your parents is sick?" Chase offered.

"Worse." House paused dramatically. "Steve McQueen has been kidnapped."

* * *

"When I awoke this morning, I found several things that alerted me to the fact that something illegal had transpired the previous night," the Detective stated, pacing the floor of the room. "First and foremost, Steve McQueen was missing from his cage. I know he did not escape because I keep the cage locked, and said lock had been picked. Only I have a key."

"You keep your pet rat in a jail cell?" Cameron asked. "Don't you think you're taking this 'over-protective pet owner' shtick a bit far?"

"Obviously not far enough," House countered. "Anyway, I also found several drops of blood on the woodchips inside Steve's cage. Upon further investigation, I found a smudged footprint on my couch, several cushions and a broken glass containing approximately a third of scotch shattered on the floor. There was also a scrap of paper near the crime scene with the words "rat suit eggs" printed almost illegibly on one side. This is my evidence."

Chase decided to humor his boss. It was better than clinic duty. "Do you have any suspects?"

"I have narrowed the extensive list of people with grudges against me or Steve down to five," House was saying as he scribbled the names onto the whiteboard. "First suspect: Dr Eric Foreman." He held up a hand when the predictable protest came from the neurologist. "You had the motive and the opportunity." House finished his chicken scratches and turned to face the people in the room.

"Care to explain your logic, O Detective House?" Wilson asked sarcastically.

"If I must," he acquiesced.

* * *

_Foreman winced as the wooden door squeaked on its hinges, breaking the silence of the night like a gunshot. His credit card had been an easy winner against the likes of the puny lock that guarded House's home against petty criminals like himself._

* * *

"Hey!" Foreman yelled. "I am _not_ a 'petty criminal!'

"Who's telling this story, hmm?" the Detective demanded. The darker man grunted and sat back down. "Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted…"

* * *

_Ever since that confrontation where House had admitted to faking cancer, something in his blood had been boiling. It had taken that incident to send him over the edge, the brink, the teetering cliff of his sanity. Now, he had to get revenge._

_Of course, that wasn't his only motivation. The hell he'd received over the few weeks standing as House's boss had started it. The racist remarks added weight to the barrel. The final straw had been trivializing the teenager's case by turning it into a game. Though he hadn't shown it over the duration of the kid's treatment, inside he'd been pissed. It was like everything he was taught in med school was completely irrelevant in House's mind. He'd never read an ethics book, never gave a crap about the patient. Sure, he was an amazing, brilliant, handsome, cunning-._

* * *

"House…" Cuddy warned. "Get on with it." He coughed.

* * *

_Sure, he was an amazing doctor, but it was like he deliberately set out to _piss him off.

_So now he was going to return the favor._

_Foreman examined the floorboards, taking in the slightly warped panels and the absence of rugs. He'd initially wanted to bust in, guns blazing, because that was what his kind _did_, but he figured that approach might be counter-productive._

_The plan was to kidnap the rat and hold him as a bargaining tool. House would get his pet back when Foreman got a raise and a guaranteed position as Head of Diagnostics when the current one inevitably croaked from a Vicodin overdose._

* * *

"_That's_ my motive? I want to overthrow your regime?" the accused gaped. "You really are insane."

"Ah ah, Dr Foreman. Remember, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

"This isn't a legal investigation, House. Unless he swallowed the Heart of the Sea, the law doesn't care about your rat. You've corralled us all in here so you can live out your childhood dream of being Sherlock Holmes incarnate," sighed Wilson. "I have a single mom with breast cancer in an hour, so hurry this up."

"All in good time, people, all in good time."

* * *

_Foreman put his criminal skills to good use by picking the double lock that secured Steve McQueen's cage from intruders._

* * *

"YOU DO NOT KEEP YOUR RAT LOCKED UP WITH A DOUBLE LOCK!" Foreman yelled. House rounded on him.

"And how would you know that if you weren't the one who kidnapped him?"

There was no reply. The Detective smirked.

* * *

_Foreman put his criminal skills to good use by picking the double lock that secured Steve McQueen's cage from intruders. He'd come prepared with a paper clip and a nail file. As the tumblers fell into place and a drop of sweat slid down his temple, the grandfather clock in by the piano chimed two A.M. House's snores could be heard all the way in the study, even over the distressed squeaks of his pet varmint._

_"Shut up, you stupid rodent!" Foreman hissed, craning to listen for any signs that his dictatorial boss was beginning to stir. The locks clicked open; Eric Foreman reached into the cage to grab and stuff. His kidnapping attempt was thwarted when the rat took a swift chunk out of his finger._

* * *

Foreman guiltily slipped his left hand into the pocket of his lab coat, hoping House hadn't noticed the Band-Aid wrapped around the middle finger.

* * *

_"Ow!" he yelped, before sticking the bitten finger in his mouth. The metallic taste of blood met his tongue. "Oh, you are in for it now, Rat." Snatching Steve McQueen by the tail and stuffing him violently into the paper bag, Foreman leapt up, grabbed his supplies and shuffled quickly and blindly towards the door. His knee bumped into a table and a crash stopped him in his tracks. That sounded like glass. Crap._

_Foreman decided not to wait and see if House woke up. He jumped over the table, landed on couch, hopped over the arm and sprinted out the door._

* * *

"And what about the slip of paper? You haven't explained that yet," muttered Foreman. House glared at the man who'd interrupted his theorizing.

"Perhaps it fell out of your pocket as you made your escape. Perhaps you planted it to throw me off your scent. There are many scenarios that fit your pathology and the timeline."

Foreman groaned and sank into a chair.

"I didn't abduct your dumb rat, okay?"

"Everybody lies," House postulated. "And anyway, you can relax now. There are still four other suspects on my list. And my second one is…Dr Lisa Cuddy."

**TBC...**


	2. Suspect: Dr Lisa Cuddy

**A/N: **Yay! Chapter 2! This one took me a while, 'cause writing a mystery is rather difficult. But, for the first time in my life, I've actually planned out everything that's going to happen in this fic; this is a milestone for me. This means I won't spend a month trying to get out of the hole I wrote myself into. And that's good for you guys, the readers. Gotta send another bear hug over to my beta, blueheronz, for being the bestest person in the whole wide world. Go read **I Am Rock, I Am An Island, I Am A House**. It's one of the best introspective fics I've ever read, plus, it's HOT! Hopefully this chapter stays on par with the first, but any feedback, good or bad, is welcome.

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**Who Kidnapped Steve McQueen?**

**Chapter 2: Suspect: Dr Lisa Cuddy**

"What?! How could you possibly think I kidnapped your rat?" Cuddy yelled, outraged. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides and a vein bulged in her neck.

"As the Dean of Medicine, you stand to gain a lot from abducting Steve."

"Like what?"

"My complete cooperation."

Cuddy was silent as she imagined a day without House whining. A blissful smile slid onto her face. Wilson coughed and she shook her head, clearing the tendrils of the daydream from her mind. "I already have your complete cooperation. In case you forgot, you owe me big time." She paused and looked nervously over her shoulder before lowering her voice. "I perjured myself for you!"

"AH HAH!" screamed Detective Tritter as he burst out from underneath the table. "I_knew_ it!"

The other occupants in the room blinked.

"How did you get under there?" Foreman demanded.

"More importantly, how did I miss you?" wondered Chase aloud. Meanwhile, House was fuming, sending torrents of bubbles from his pipe.

"Hey! There's only room for one detective in this hospital!"

Tritter stopped dancing triumphantly. Just as he was about to protest, a giant meteor materialized above his head. The rock slammed into Tritter, sending him barreling through every floor of the hospital, through the crust of the Earth and into the fiery pits of Hell.

"Well," Wilson said after a significant silence. "That was odd."

House raised his eyebrows. "Uh, anyway, that perjury thing happened weeks ago. My debt has been sufficiently paid off. You needed a new plan to get me under your thumb."

* * *

_Lisa Cuddy took three deep breaths from the safety of her car. She'd been staked out in front of House's apartment for the better part of three hours, waiting for the man to switch off his lights and go to bed. When his windows finally went dark, she decided to give him an hour to fall asleep. Her back was starting to hurt, both from sitting in the car for too long and from supporting the weight of her chest._

_She glanced once more at her watch before grabbing her purse and creeping across the street. Unbeknownst to her, a small piece of paper clung to the sole of her left sneaker._

* * *

"Hold on," Cuddy interrupted. "I'm wearing heels, House. And based on this timeline, I wouldn't have had time to steal your rat and drive all the way back home to change before arriving at the hospital at five."

House smirked. "It's raining outside, and the pathway to your driveway is made of dirt. If you had left your home and immediately driven to the hospital as you say, your shoes should be covered in mud. Since they're cleaner than a baby's butt, we can assume you're lying. Either you wore a different pair of shoes to walk to your car, or you levitated into the driver's seat."

Cuddy's smile faded.

"I'm guessing you were halfway out the door when you decided you wouldn't be able to sneak around in stilettos, not when you were already dressed for work. So you grabbed a pair of ratty sneakers and took them off when you were in the hospital parking lot."

She sat down beside Foreman, squirming.

* * *

_When she reached House's door, she pulled out a key and slipped it into the lock. Three days after hiring him, Cuddy had a spare made so she could barge in if he overdosed. At least, that was what she told herself. In reality, she just wanted to able to kick down the door and jump the cane-wielding sex god that haunted her dreams._

* * *

"Don't push it," Cuddy growled.

* * *

_Anyway, she unlocked the front door. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she squinted to make out the shape of a cage. Every step she took disturbed the warped floorboards and sent a piercing creak through the air. Cuddy swore softly under her breath and removed the shoes from her feet; absentmindedly, she tossed the beat up Nike's onto House's couch, ignorant of the mud stain that began to form on the cushion. _

_The stethoscope around her neck was cold, colder than her heart. Ears strained to hear the slightest sound, she placed the diaphragm against the lock and began to twist the dial._

* * *

"Hold up," Wilson interrupted. "You said the cage had a key-lock, not a combination one."

House looked affronted. "It's _both_. I have a key and a combination."

"Do they even make those?" Chase asked.

* * *

_Click. Click. Click. Clank. She smiled. Breaking and entering was a lot easier than she thought. Steve McQueen was staring innocently at her with big watery brown eyes. She looked away; his gaze was making her feel almost guilty. _

_As she reached into the cage, the grandfather clock by the piano burst to life. Cuddy jumped and bit her tongue to keep from screaming hysterically. She tasted blood. Crap. The Dean of Medicine spat out red-tinged saliva, but the tangy flavor still polluted her mouth. She never liked blood: not the taste, not the color, not the sensation as it dripped down her skin._

_Her fingers closed over the small rat, and she gently placed him in a bag. Wary of the squeaky floor, Cuddy slipped her shoes back on and clumped quietly out the door. The piece of paper on her sole snagged on an errant nail; the rumbling of an engine turning over barely caused Gregory House to roll over in his sleep._

* * *

"House, you're insane," Cuddy muttered.

"And yet, it makes perfect sense," he countered.

Foreman raised an eyebrow and pointed a finger accusingly at the man. "But you didn't explain the broken glass, just like you couldn't explain the note when you were spouting nonsense at me."

"I admit, the glass eludes me. Of course, she could have bumped into the table in the dark like you did-."

"Allegedly!"

"Shut up."

Foreman growled, but sat back. Cuddy was less cooperative.

"You're saying I'm careful enough to wait till you've long been asleep, take off my shoes _and_ bite my tongue rather than make noise, but I was careless enough to knock over a shot glass?" she asked skeptically.

"Will you people stop disproving my theories!" House exclaimed.

"This is ridiculous," said Wilson. "I'm leaving."

House stuck out his cane, blocking the oncologist's exit. "Not so fast, Jimmy. You'll want to hear my next conjecture."

"And that would be?"

He smiled softly. "My third suspect is Dr James Wilson."

**TBC...**


	3. Suspect: Dr James Wilson

**A/N: Helllloooo my pretty little pretties. Guess who's back in the fanfic game? Rhetorical though it was, the answer is me! I had a wonderful summer (which included me getting noticed by a casting director from ABC Primetime!!) but I'm excited to continue working on my stories. Hopefully I still have a few readers since I've been gone so long. Well, we'll see. Anyway, read and review! And have an awesome summer, or what's left of it.**

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**Who Kidnapped Steve McQueen?**

**Chapter 3: Suspect: Dr James Wilson**

Wilson rolled his eyes and pushed away the cane that blocked his path to freedom. "That's absurd. Now move so I can meet my next patient."

"Fine," House acquiesced. "But I'm going to take your refusal to cooperate as a sign of your guilt."

"What?!" Wilson cried. "I kidnapped your rat because I actually have to work? Your logic is twisted, man."

"Is it? Is it, really?" House raised an eyebrow conspiratorially and leaned close to his friend's ear. "If you just admit that you did it and give me back Steve, I won't hold it against you."

"Yes you would."

"So you _did_ do it!"

"No!" Wilson yelled.

From her spot on the couch, Cuddy cleared her throat and motioned for Wilson to take a seat in the chair next to her. "Just sit down, James, and let House rant. You're not getting out of this office until he satisfies his curiosity." Wilson groaned and sank into the chair.

"Thank you, my dear Cuddy," the Detective said. She merely glared in response.

* * *

_Wilson's numerous keys rattled on their chain. Mentally, he counted them. Keys to his office, apartment, car. Keys to all three of his ex-wives' homes. And, of course, a key to House's flat._

_There were some perks to being the man's best friend._

_He pushed the door open, glancing fearfully towards the bedroom when the hinges protested. He desperately wanted to run back to his car and grab the WD-40 he kept in the glove compartment, but the smarter side of him remembered that there really was a time and a place for obsessive cleaning._

_This was not one of them._

* * *

"I do not obsessively clean!" Wilson protested. He looked around the room. "Wait, do I?" There was a guilty silence; Cameron picked at her long nails, Cuddy twisted a curl around her finger and the men coughed uncomfortably. "Well, maybe if you people didn't leave hazardous messes in your wake, I wouldn't have to."

"Or maybe if you grew some testicles, you wouldn't find yourself dancing around in an apron," House remarked.

"That was _one_time! You can't cook spaghetti sauce without an apron, it'll stain your shirt!" Foreman masked his snort of laughter behind the clearing of his throat. Pouting, Wilson sat back.

"Just talk."

* * *

_More out of habit then anything else, Wilson tossed his key chain onto the hall table. The clatter of metal meeting wood resonated through the room and woke up one sleeping rat. He slapped his forehead when a flurry of squeaks and the rattling of the cage alerted him to this fact. He really did suck at the whole breaking and entering thing._

_Wilson quickly found himself poking at Steve through the bars, unsuccessfully trying to calm him down. By the light of the moon shining through a window, he made out a slight trickle of blood by Steve's right ear. The oncologist deduced that the injury was brought on by the rat's continuous escape attempts: namely, bashing his head against the cage._

* * *

"Wow, Wilson, what did you do to that poor animal?" Cameron demanded.

"I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!"

* * *

_Though the thought gave him chills, he reached into the cage to soothe the savage beast-._

* * *

"Wait a minute, House," Wilson interrupted. "You haven't explained how I opened Steve's cage." He grinned smugly at the Detective's frown.

"Obviously, you picked the lock." The entire room looked at the man in question. Then looked back at House. And back to Wilson. "Or maybe not. But if you let me finish with my theory-."

"No way! If you can't explain the open cage, then I'm off the hook. Now let me out."

"Not so fast, Jimmy! I may not be able to prove you're the kidnapper, but I can prove you had some part of it."

"How?" Wilson scoffed.

"I'm getting there." House took a breath and smoothed out a wrinkle on his coat. "Now, since I can't explain how you got Steve out, I also have no way to pin the broken glass or footprints on you. However…"

* * *

_Though the thought gave him chills, he wished he could reach into the cage to soothe the savage beast. He knew that the combination of Steve's screams and the squeaky door would overpower even House's snores. He had to quiet the animate object before attempting to leave via the inanimate one. The only thing he _could_ do was pet it through the bars. Try as he may, Wilson could not bring himself to touch Steve McQueen. The rat was unsanitary, unclean, unhygienic. The word didn't matter; the point was, there would be no way James Wilson was touching rodent without some sort of barrier between their skin. _

_Already, the seconds were whizzing by. He had no time to root around the apartment and find some gloves. He'd have to make do with what was on his person. Sticking his hand into his pocket, he withdrew a piece of paper. _

_"Perfect," Wilson whispered._

_He shaped the paper around his forefinger and stuck it through the cage bars. As he stroked him, Steve's squeaks fell in volume. Soon, he was asleep. Ditching the paper on his way out, James sprinted out the door and didn't stop running until he was three blocks away, at which point he swore and turned back because he'd forgotten his car._

* * *

Detective House finished his story with a flourish and waited for the loud protests that would come from his friend. He was not disappointed.

"Honestly," Wilson growled, "even if that were true, you have no proof the paper you found belongs to me!"

House tssked. "Actually, I do." After a dramatic pause, he took the note in question out of his own pocket and laid it on the table in front of him. "If you would look carefully, you will notice that, on the back, are the words that identify this paper as coming from James Wilson's prescription pad."

The oncologist sat back slowly.

"Luckily, there are still three more suspects on my list!" House exclaimed.

"Lucky for who?" Cameron muttered.

"Well, not you, I suppose." He turned to address the entire room. "The next potential kidnapper is Dr Allison Cameron."

**TBC...**


End file.
